Sanctuary
by PteraWaters
Summary: Angel, Spike and Buffy's people deal with the aftermath of recent attacks, breakdowns, and conundrums. Features our three heroes as well as Willow, Xander, and Fred. Angel/Spike/Buffy. Season 9-ish, V/S archives, M for sex/language
1. Paradox

_Previously on The Vampire/Slayer Archives: Our heroes have been fighting an archdemon named Belial and his minions. While fighting Belial's siege on Slayer Central, Willow almost lost herself to the magic and had to flee to an alternate dimension before she became a danger to anyone else. Buffy tried to call all the slayers back to headquarters, but fell victim to a trap foreseen by Spike in a vision and set by the slayer-eater Carnivora, who may be working for Belial. Spike and Xander set off to save her from certain torture and death, but could not reach Buffy on their own, because Carnivora controlled a cult of powerful sorcerers. Angel stayed behind, keeper of Micheal's Aegis, the only artifact protecting Slayer Central and all its inhabitants from Belial's evil influence. Out of concern for his lover, Spike, Angel left the Aegis behind as he went to help with Buffy's rescue mission, bearing incredible pain as the Aegis tore at his soul to feed its protective power. The two vampires, along with Xander, managed to free Buffy and many of the other slayers Carnivora had captured, helping Buffy attack the demon that caught her. The head slayer managed to injure Carnivora, but he teleported away before any of our heroes could finish him off. The demon's whereabouts remain a mystery._

_**Summary**: Angel, Spike and Buffy's people deal with the aftermath of recent attacks, breakdowns, and conundrums. Features our three heroes as well as Willow, Xander, and Fred. Features Angel/Spike/Buffy, Willow confused, Fred doing physics, and Xander trying to hold it all together. Hopefully not too dark.  
_

* * *

**Sanctuary **

Chapter 1 - Paradox

You are here for a simple reason. Pride. The original mortal sin. Downfall of many a king and deity. You've always had a preponderance of this simple and yet complex idea.

When you were small, you didn't understand the others. Why couldn't they learn? You would ask yourself. Why did they refuse to understand the teachers' lessons? Why couldn't they understand when you spoke? Why were they so stubborn?

The pride, the contempt, began when you realized that they truly didn't understand, when you realized that they were actually that much stupider than you. Their brains worked normally, and yours was the odd one out. You had a hard time, and it took years upon years, learning how to deal with the simple fact that others did not think the same way you did. And that was your thing. You were the smart one. You had the answers, which would jump into your brain like magic, and all the other kids hated you for it. But, you were smart enough to realize that they were actually jealous. And you were better than them. On every test, standardized or otherwise, you got the highest score. You were the intellectual big fish in the little pond.

And it made you proud.

Your parents were never happy with your progress, were they? Demanding more and more from you? You see, they were just as smart as you, which meant you could still disappoint them by getting bored, slacking off, and missing just one question on a test. You should have known those answers. You could have known them, but you'd never had to work hard for anything in your entire life. You were spoiled by the very mind you were so proud of.

It taught you that all the answers could be easy, and magic was just another tool you could use to get these answers, the same as a ruler, or a calculator, or a book. Using magic was easy. Giving it up was hard. And you were proud of yourself, thought yourself stalwart and brave. You thought you could handle it.

You've never done anything difficult, have you, Willow? Not like this. No, I know what you're going to say and yes you fought, but you didn't have the same fire of spirit and heart like Buffy or Xander. You had your brain and your rationalizations, your uncanny luck. And pride.

You were so proud, you never noticed it in yourself. You knew the other kids hated a know-it-all unless you helped them succeed, so you learned quickly how to appear meek. You learned how to be insulted, and you learned how to cry. You learned when to shut your mouth and you learned to want to help others. You learned how to be less despised by your peers. You taught yourself you weren't proud.

But you are.

And that's why you're here, seeking out my help, little one. You need to be reeducated. You need to shed your pride like a snake sheds its old skin, so you can grow into what you need to become. The metaphysical pathways through your mind are too vast to be dammed or stoppered. Either you will learn how to be humble, or the magic will destroy you, witch.

Do you understand?

* * *

Can I just say I hate alternate dimensions? I've been to a few, and while some are fun, or scary, or just plain lacking shrimp, I just can't stand the ones that I can't wrap my brain around. Like this one. Verigard's home dimension shone like glitter in my mind's eye, and yet was dark to my physical eyes. It was loud and silent, chaotic and still, warm and cold, soft and hard, filled with oxygen and suffocating. Fred and Illyria loved it.

Of course, they didn't have an all-powerful being playing a round of "This is Your Life" with all their least-attractive qualities and decisions. Here they were united and separate at the same time, speaking to each other face to face from the same body, and having a grand old time of it. Fred showed Illyria what emotions looked like, and Illyria taught Fred how to listen to the currents of magic flowing quickly and without motion through Verigard's home. She taught Fred how to speak to the being in his own language of silence and sound. Fred taught Illyria how to solve complex mathematical formulas, and then how to apply those formulas to everything and nothing there. They delighted in the paradoxical nature of that dimension over and over again.

I spent an eternity in hell.

"You must not … fight … the paradox, Willow," Verigard told me in its halting, loud-and-mute(?) voice, approximating English as best it could. I could tell there were so many other lessons it wanted to teach me, but it didn't have the words. Or I didn't have them. Something was missing.

"The … magic is not _yours_, little one," it said at some point, I couldn't tell when. I was hungry and sated all the time, exhausted and brimming with energy. I couldn't tell the days apart, if there were even days to count. Time stretched on forever and I was always confused, which made me frustrated and then made me angry.

Emotions escaped Verigard like odors on the air and like disconcerting vacuums of space. Hope, fear, comfort, anger, happiness, and pain. I thought it might be trying to teach me using them, but everything there was so alien, I couldn't understand.

Until I dreamed. In my dream, Verigard had solid form, and he was male. He was beautiful and horrible, but he had one voice and one face and one body. There were no spaces of nothing that were also him. There were no disembodied words and silences. There were no emotions, no smells. Only a visual presence, which resembled somebody I thought I should be able to recognize with his dark hair and his bright eyes and his wrinkles and his pot belly. And a dark voice, telling me that I had to let go of my pride. You, you, you. Always saying, "you," as if to distinguish me from him. "This is your problem, Willow," he would whisper as I dreamed and forgot for a moment that I was also awake. "Without pride, you will not be angry, you will not be frustrated, and you will not be confused. You have to let go, Willow. Let go."

I couldn't let go, because I still couldn't understand how. How do you let go, how do you rid yourself of pride, when you can't find it in yourself? How could I even be sure Verigard was trying to help, when everything he told me outside the dream felt like everlasting truth and a slimy lie?

Humans weren't supposed to exist here. Our eyes didn't work, our senses couldn't function, our brains broke and shuddered under the strain. And yet Fred was happy. But she had Illyria, who remembered what it was like existing this way, who knew how to deal with it.

Unfair. It felt unfair and completely upside-down, even though Fred said, "There's a delightful lack of gravity in this dimension!" and yet stood solidly next to me as I waited for Verigard to return so it could leave and conduct its other business.

It wanted me to learn humility and how to be humble. Well, throwing me into this dimension was a good start. Verigard said that I'd been able to understand anything I came across my whole life, and it had been right. Until now. I didn't understand. I couldn't understand. And yet I couldn't escape until I learned how to understand. Verigard didn't even give me the option to quit and leave, saying, "Your pride … Willow … cannot be unleashed … again. Outside this non-place … you will continue … to destroy without creation. You will create without destruction. Your world will become unstable."

"Has this ever happened before?" I tried to ask it, but Verigard didn't seem to understand me until we were dreaming.

"The human soul has always been prideful, and yet self-destructive. Most have destroyed themselves before being able to host as much energy as you are able. Though, this has occurred a few times since the beginning. I brought all of them here."

"Did any of them get to go back home?"

"One," he said, "and several. I'm no good with linear time, Willow. I don't know which one you are in the history."

"Wait!" I cried, catching his arm in my hand (both blissfully solid) and asking Verigard, "Does that mean I _am _going to be able to go home?"

"That," he smirked, an expression oddly similar to Xander's, and yet perfectly natural on his face, "would be telling, young lady."

"What about Fred? Can she go back, even if I fail?"

"She can go whenever she would like," he insisted. "Her demon's memory will not allow the magics she controls to overtake her. Illyria knows, better than anyone, where pride gets you."

"How long have we been here? How long will she wait for me?"

"I told you I was no good with linear time," Verigard sighed, rubbing his rheumy eyes. "I think you've been here either three days, or three years. Some multiple of three."

"I've only been here three days?" I asked in surprise. "Or three years? It's felt like eons!"

"Fred should be able to calculate it for you," he shrugged, disappearing from my dream and speaking to my awake-self. "Her math … astounds."

When I found Fred, floating and walking towards her and Illyria, who were really one person, I asked her about it and she replied, "Not quite four days!" with a bright, nose-scrunching smile that I could feel but not see. "Isn't it cool how it feels like longer?"

"Yeah," I muttered and screamed. "Cool."

* * *

"You love me," I told Spike when I found him flossing his teeth in our bathroom. He'd showered twice and brushed his teeth three times, and now he was flossing, all to get the feel of that dungeon off his skin. Buffy was no better, wanting me to wait outside her bathroom and keep talking to her as she did something similar – washing everything away under a stream of water I could swear was too warm. Scalding, if the feel of her afterward was any indication. I left her in Dawn's capable hands and went back to my boyfriend, telling him as soon as I saw him, "You love me."

Quirking an eyebrow at me, Spike grunted, "Eeyah," with his mouth open. I took it for a yes.

Stepping closer carefully, I continued, "No, I mean … you _really, really _love me. All those things you said…"

After looking away and taking the floss from his mouth, Spike said, "Sort of wish I hadn't, luv."

"I'm glad you did," I insisted, taking another step so I could touch him, because not touching him seemed so wrong. "I'm just awed and I'm…"

"What?" he asked, returning my small touch with a light brush to my hip.

I avoided his eyes for a moment, because when they caught mine, the word I'd been holding back tumbled out, "Scared."

"Scared of what?" Spike murmured, drawing closer so he had both hands on my hips. "Of what a sorry sop I am?"

"No," I shook my head, pulling him closer and burying my face in his shoulder. "Of what a sorry sop I'm _not_. I don't know how to love you that much. I'm afraid I can't, and then you'll resent me for it."

"Always knew I was better than you, pet," he whispered, making me chuckle voicelessly. "And, I've loved you for a hundred and thirty years, Angel. You've loved me for less than one. You'll catch up."

"I won't," I shook my head, rubbing my face against his skin and breathing him in. "I don't deserve you."

"Well that's too bad, Ange," Spike whispered in my ear, hugging me tightly. "Because I've chosen _you_, as flawed and loveless as you are. And I'm not going anywhere."

"Do you …" I sighed. "Do you think I can't love you as well as I should because of Buffy?"

"Perhaps," he shrugged, without stiffening in my arms as I'd expected him to.

"But what if we live out her life with her and I still can't love you well enough?"

Spike pulled back, his eyes dancing back and forth over mine before he nodded once, sharply. "Already love me well enough for a thousand lifetimes, Angel. You just can't see it from in there."

Sighing again, I muttered, "You're selling yourself short again."

"Kiss me and I'll tell you if I'm selling myself short," Spike whispered, his chin high and defiant, like he was daring me to do it.

So I did. I brought my lips to his and sank into him slowly. I gave him love and fed him desire as I kissed Will gently. I wanted to be worthy of him and to show him how every bone in my body wanted him, slowly burning for him. This was all I had, all I could give Spike and I knew, whatever I said, it wouldn't be enough.

Because there was one sticking point – if I ever became capable of loving William as completely as he loved me, I would be perfectly happy. And I would end up leaving him.

I could give him Buffy, though. Or, consent to bringing her into our relationship in any case. I could give Spike what he wanted, even if what he wanted seemed like a bad idea. I could stop fighting and let go, let her in. And she would keep me safe from losing myself in him and he would keep me safe from losing myself in her.

As I drew back from him, Spike murmured, "Ya make me weak, Angel."

"You make me strong," I countered.

Nodding his head, Spike got his hands under my shirt, running them up the skin on my back, and said, "Could never be sold short by you, Ange. You came for me."

"You found her for me," I replied, shivering under his touch and brushing my hands up and down his arms.

"I did," he whispered, kissing me again.

As we parted, lips sticking together like even they didn't want to let go, I said, "Promise me there's always going to be an us, besides her. That we won't lose these moments for just the two of us."

"Aye, luv," he murmured with a nod. "If I'm your bleedin' soul-mate as you claim," he rolled his eyes, and yet I felt how happy he was at the idea, "there's to be time for you and me. Always."

"Thank you," I whispered, lips pressed against his again, drawing Spike into the bedroom. "And you won't ..."

"Won't what?"

Laying him back on the bed slowly, I asked, "You won't go to her without me?"

"No," Spike shook his head, reaching up to kiss me again. "And you?"

"Can't," I told him, kissing away from his mouth and down his neck as I tugged at the bottom of his shirt. "Don't even know how much longer I can handle being like this with you."

Chuckling, Spike let me take his shirt and then set his hands to unbuttoning mine. Once that was accomplished and I lay down beside him, Spike whispered, "Just let me know, Ange. If it's getting too good. Help me keep you here?"

"As best I can," I agreed, my hands drifting toward the button on his jeans, popping it open and feeling how he shivered in anticipation. "I love you, Will."

"Aye," he nodded, lifting his hips so I could tug at his jeans and remove them. He watched me with soft eyes as I threw them away and crawled back up the bed to him, setting my body on top of his carefully and taking another kiss. "Love you, Liam … you soddin' _berk_!" The whispered insult came with a wicked smile and I knew he was only doing it to steal a little bit of the moment away from me, to keep me sane.

I returned his smile before getting to my knees and letting him take my pants and boxers away. And then we were together, skin-on-skin and lips-on-lips. Oh, God! Tongues-on-tongues! But if I wanted to show Spike how much I loved him, I couldn't get distracted and lose myself in him. I had to be gentle and make love to him in a way I hardly ever did. I had to show him how much I wanted and needed him and how little of it was about the blood we shared.

* * *

Verigard's dimension was amazing. I couldn't really take it all in until Illyria taught me how to just let the experiences flow over me, rather than trying to capture and analyze them. It would never work. On earth, once you observe a quantum particle, it settles down into one of many possible states. Not so here. Observation didn't rule out alternative possibilities, but made one appreciate how many possibilities there were.

Willow would have said the possibilities were infinite, endless, unknowable and impossible to understand, but she was trying too hard. She'd only ever known observation and was having a difficult time changing gears.

Oh, if only I could have brought Einstein here. And Plank and Bose. To be able to share this new space with some of the greatest minds in history? That would have been incredible and impossible. But, with years to think in only days worth of Earth time, I could figure it out. I could write my equations on the air, without using placeholders for abstract thoughts. Without reality, abstract became real and the math flowed around me like butterflies and Chinese dragons and hope.

I could show earth a new way of thinking. Oh, I could solve the theorems that my colleagues had been trying to describe over and over again, getting nowhere because this vital non-experience was missing. Humans were not meant to solve these laws of the universe, but Illyria made me better than human, infecting my neural pathways and altering them. I felt like Prometheus stealing fire from the gods, powerful and with the best of intentions. Then I realized what had happened to Prometheus.

"He did not suffer long," Illyria said. "Prometheus died the first time the eagle ate his liver. His essence was destroyed, but that did not stop man from rising up against the demons and conquering your realm."

"So, you're saying I should bring these ideas back?"

"You should hoard the fire for yourself, human. You cannot unleash this knowledge on an unsuspecting ape who could not handle the consequences."

Something in my brain remembered the phrase "Prime Directive" and I nodded my head. Maybe if I doled out a little information at a time, I could garner the respect of my peers and be known all over the world as the woman who changed physics forever. Or, I could swallow my pride, like Willow was trying to do over there - I really hoped she wouldn't have an aneurism with the effort - and use my theories only for the greater good.

"How can we use this," I asked Illyria, trailing my fingers through non-existent equations and feeling them tickle my soul, "to help our friends?"

"I have no friends, and you shouldn't either. This knowledge could be used to restore ourselves to our proper place as rulers of Earth. Is not technology your new magic?"

"We are so not going there!" I cried, loving how my voice was silent and yet echoed off the clouds around us. "But we should help. Keep things tipped toward our side of the scale. It's really this archdemon that's giving us the biggest trouble at the moment." And, the only thing protecting us from him and his people, was an archangel's shield that my friend had to bear. It needed to be in many places at once, I decided, in order to protect everyone outside the castle and to free Angel from his bound-in obligation to it.

That was possible here. Heck I was pretty sure when I stopped thinking about it that I was in about a thousand places at once. I just had to work out the equivalency to make that phenomenon relevant on Earth. Expand the possibilities, even under observation. What the heck? I had eternity, didn't I?

* * *

Unusually gentle, Angel brought me to bed, his hands light on my skin rather than the heavy, cracking pressure of lust that usually pervaded them. These touches were ghosting and shivering, pleasing and infuriating, like seeing heaven from outside the gates and needing to get in there, only to be turned away, toward something better in your lover's arms.

He made me forget, Angel did, his fingers and lips soothing away the horror of almost losing Buffy, the grating tension of trying to save her on my own and needing him to find me, save me too. He took his time, kissing me, tonguing my mouth gently as if to share himself rather than take what he needed. He pressed kisses lower and lower on my body, setting my skin alight and yet abandoning me to where I couldn't wrap my arms around his bulk and feel safe in his embrace.

Oh, but then! His careful, heavy kisses found my prick and, "Annngelll!" I breathed. Though I still missed him in my arms, his talented mouth and fingers set to work, driving sweet pleasure into my body one caress at a time, baring me naked to him, opening me up to him in a way that ached with perfection. "Bloody hell, luv."

Somehow he got me slicked up and panting for him, mewling with need and tugging on his hair, his head, wanting Angel in my arms again before everything came crashing down. Great bloody forehead to forehead, nose to nose, Angel waiting a brief moment before giving me what I wanted, he whispered, "This is how much I love you, sunshine." And then he was pushing into me like settling into a loved and worn easy chair when you got home, sighing and knowing that this was where you would stay forever if you could.

Yes, I know I just compared myself to a sodding piece of furniture, but fuck you. It was lovely and apt and, "Oh, Ange ... yes, that's the spot!"

I held him tightly as we moved together, slippery sliding with languid sweat, slow and perfect. I tried to ask myself what had gotten into him, but thinking meant not noticing how expertly he rocked his hips and held onto my legs, lifting for a more perfect angle, curling around me on his knees as I curled around him, pressing soft lips to lips and jaw and neck. "Always," he breathed, a promise and a fact. "Always yours, Will."

Those words made me realise that he'd never taken me this softly before. Usually, when it was gentle like this, it was me buggering him all slow and lovely like so he wouldn't flash back and get scared. I've only ever been the victim in heart, not in body. Not even when Dru killed me. But Angel? He'd been ripped apart too young and suffered for it much longer than any man should have to, taking it out on his own victims, taking it out on me because I would let him.

This was too close. Too close to happiness, too close to healing, too close to love and absolute bliss that sneaked up on you when you thought it would never get there and had you keening with joy and fear because if this was how you felt, would your lover feel any less? Would he leave you on a wave of perfect, endless, always-and-forever love like he left your girl?

Fear made me clamp dull teeth onto Angel's shoulder and bite down hard, bruising without breaking the skin. The pain made him come with an imperfect roar and I knew I had just saved us, payment for his bravery that day; and the gift I had to give him? Pain. It was always pain with Angel. Never far from it, that one. No wonder he was able to break away from the Aegis, endure the torture that came along with following me into the darkness to retrieve our girl.

"Thank you," he whispered, trying to pull away until I held him close, chasing Angel's sorry eyes with mine.

When I finally caught them, black with recent pleasure in the dim, soft light pouring in from the other room, I whispered to my Angel, "Too close to perfection, luv. Don't leave."

"Won't," he agreed, blinking back what might have been tears, even as his cock twitched a few last times inside me. Arms wrapped around shoulders and knees or thighs pressed to hips and we held each other close, locked together and breathing in the horrible, heavy disappointment of almost-perfect.

* * *

_Please review! I haven't quite settled on where this episode is going from here, so any comments or suggestions would be helpful. Thanks!_


	2. Truth

_And for my third and only non-Glee post of the day..._

_

* * *

_**Sanctuary**

Chapter 2 - Truth

"It's not right," I whispered, still buried in Spike, half of me wanting to stay there as long as I possibly could and the other half wanting to push back and escape because this wasn't what I had wanted us to be. "We're not right. This wasn't what I wanted."

"I know," Spike nodded, his temple beside mine. "But pain grounds you, luv."

"I want to let go," I confessed, burying my face deeper into where my boyfriend's neck met his shoulder. "It can't be this way forever, can it?"

"That'd be fucking depressing, wouldn't it?" he replied with a ghost of a chuckle against my neck.

"You shouldn't-"

"I don't mind."

Drawing back so I could look down on him, I abandoned Spike as I said, "You fucking do mind and you know it. These aren't my tears on your face, _cor_."

Brushing away the salty droplets beneath those sky-blue eyes, I rolled to the side, lying beside him and letting Spike stretch out. He reached for me again, tangling his limbs with mine like he didn't want to remember how it felt splitting up so he could go rescue Buffy. "See," Spike muttered, thumbing my lower lip and chin, "this is why we need 'er. Get rid of all the pain, the resentment."

"And replace it with what?" I asked, feeling something inside my chest crack at the thought. "Guilt?"

Shrugging, Spike said, "Works for me. Guilt over how you left 'er. Guilt over having to share me with 'er? Sound about right?"

"Yes," I muttered with an annoyed groan. "But we still won't be how we should be. We won't be perfect. Not without..."

"Losin' the soul. I know," he nodded, kissing me. "But I'd rather have an easy brand of imperfect than lose you, luv."

Shaking my head at Spike, I chuckled, "You call bringing Buffy in easy?"

"Sure," he smiled, white teeth sharp in the dim light. "Won't have to look after your sorry ass by m'self anymore."

Feeling his smirk goad me into playful violence, I grabbed at Spike's arms and pinned him back to the bed, growling, "Never knew I was such a burden, William."

"Did I say sorry ass?" Spike asked as he fought back, trying to use his knees and feet against me. "I meant fat ass, Angel, you ton of bricks!"

"Be careful what you say to me, precious," I snarled, taking a kiss from him, "or have you forgotten that I have yet to exact my revenge for _the incident_?"

"Which incident?" he asked with a quirked eyebrow. "The car I destroyed or needing you to come after us in that dungeon despite all the pain?"

I opened my mouth to reply, but a knock at the door stopped me. Spike and I both took deep breaths as we separated, knowing in the same instant, "It's her."

* * *

We'd made it back from Glasgow for the most part, and even though we'd had some casualties, both slayers and Watchers this time, I couldn't help but feel grateful. This was no business to expect everyone to survive, and it took me until the battle with the First to really understand that lesson. Sure, Buffy died and everything, but before her body was even cold, Willow was brainstorming ways to get her back. Jesse died the week Buffy came to town, but he hadn't gone out looking for evil to fight. No, it preyed on him like it did on everyone else in Sunnydale. Living on the Hellmouth, death became commonplace, but it was only ever a friend of a friend, or someone else I barely knew. It wasn't Buffy or Willow or Giles. It wasn't the people who were stronger and more powerful than me.

Slayers who weren't Buffy died. Slayers that I knew and trained with and cared about died. That's how it was now, which was kinda sad, don't you think? But I was grateful it wasn't worse as I wandered away from the Command Room and towards my bed. When I passed the front door to get to the big staircase, something heavy knocked at the door. Three times.

Drawing my tranq gun and my phone, I called the desk in charge of security and asked, "Does someone want to tell me how anyone got past all the wards and the guards and everything? Because someone's knocking at the door."

"I don't know," the girl on the other end of the line replied curiously. "I'll pull up that camera... Ah, here we go ... it's Andrew."

"Why would Andrew knock? Why is he even outside this late?"

"I don't know, sir," the girl replied. "And I can't see anyone else, but I don't think he's alone."

"Get a few guards out there, okay, Steph? I'll try talking to him through the door."

"Right away, sir," she replied and I hung up, approaching the door carefully. We had all learned that even if someone may look like your friend, it's better to be safe than sorry.

After another loud knock, I asked, "Who's there?"

"Xander, it's me!" Andrew's muffled voice filtered in through the heavy door and he pounded on it again. "...really don't ... funny, man! Let me in!"

"Is anyone with you?"

"No!" he cried, but the nervous strangled tone in his whiny voice said otherwise. Someone was using him to try to get in. Of course they would go for a weak link like Andrew.

"I know someone else is out there! Who is it?"

After a silence that seemed much longer than it was, a second voice called out in an American accent, "Fine! It's Josh. Let me in or I'll hurt your friend!"

"Josh? Josh, who?"

"The incubus? I was kidnapped from your dungeon last week..."

"What?" I cried. "How the hell...? Kidnapped? We thought you escaped!"

"It's safe here," Josh called. "Why would I want to escape the only place in the world where the archdemon can't get me?"

"And a dungeon is better than whatever Belial has cooked up for you?" I asked, wondering if he was bluffing about hurting Andrew. As much as the guy annoyed me from time to time and despite his weird fixation on Spike, I guess I considered him my friend. I didn't want him to get hurt at the hands of a crazy demon. But I couldn't just let the demon into our safe place because he promised to be good, now could I?

"Fuck, yes! You've got to help me. I'm asking for sanctuary here, man!"

The last safe place left on Earth, and a freaking demon wanted in. Oh, yeah. This was my life, through and through.

* * *

It took me a long time to fall asleep that night. I kept turning the light off, and then, when the pounding of my heart and the shaky breathing became too much for me to handle, I turned it back on. But I couldn't fall asleep with the light on. Not for more than a few minutes at a time. It was stupid, really. Slayers aren't supposed to be afraid of the dark.

But every time I turned off the light, I thought I heard him there, watching me from the darkest corner of the room, planning out how to torture me as long as he could before my slayer body finally called it quits and died.

"Soon, my dear," his deep, hissing voice said, as real as ever, here and now. I screeched a little in shock, flailing around and jumping for the lamp again, switching it on, trying to calm the frantic, urgent beating of my chest.

I blinked for a second before being able to look around my room. There was my dresser, my closet, my posters, everything. Except for Carnivora. He was nowhere to be seen. I even checked under the bed, a knife held tightly in my grasp.

"Shit," I said to myself. It must have been a dream. Maybe.

No longer feeling safe in my own room, I shrugged a robe on over my pajamas, took the knife back in hand, and left my room. This had not been a good week for Buffy's self-esteem, had it? First, getting stabbed and getting the crap beat out of me when Belial's guys attacked, and then falling for Carnivora's trap and almost dying down there with my friend. Why did I have the feeling that my number was finally up? Why couldn't I just be lucky I was still here? Why had I been so off my game and careless that I needed to be rescued twice in one week? After being a slayer for almost a decade, I could count the number of times I'd needed to be rescued on one hand. And two of those happened this week.

It could only mean one thing: Buffy's third expiration date was almost up.

As I walked through the halls of the castle, I didn't know where I was going until I ended up there – Spike and Angel's suite. Things with them were still up in the air and I felt like maybe my brain was trying to tell me something. Work it out with them before you're gone, so they can move on without you. It wasn't the first time I'd had this thought, but that night it was the strongest thought bouncing around in there. Shrugging at my subconscious, I opened the main door quietly, relieved that it wasn't locked.

I'd been in their living room lots of times before, and that night I noticed again how the décor was an odd mixture of Angel's and Spike's. They'd put up a big bookshelf, and half of it had old and expensive looking books and knick knacks. The other half had a few books, but mostly lots of CDs and a few video games. Spike had made Angel buy a big TV, which he'd mounted on one of the stone walls in the spare room, don't ask me how. In another corner stood an antique desk, drawers aplenty, and the couch was nice – some sort of dark blue suede.

There were three doors leading from the room – the door I'd come in through, the door to the TV room, and the door to their bedroom. This was the one I approached, because here in the living room there was a little light coming from outside in the hallway, but there were still creepily black corners that made my heart race. "God, this is so dumb," I muttered to myself before fisting one hand and rapping on the door with my knuckles, starting softly and growing louder.

After a couple of short knocks, Angel answered the door, shirtless, but wearing pajama pants, a concerned furrow in his brow. "Buffy," he whispered, taking one of my elbows in his hand, "what's wrong?"

"I hate this," I answered him in a whisper, wishing I could see his eyes better, even if they would be almost as dark in the light.

Sighing, he asked, "Hate what?"

"I hate feeling this scared and weak," I confessed, jerking my elbow away from his hand, even though it had been comforting keeping it there. "I absolutely hate it."

Angel sighed and pulled me into a hug, ignoring how I'd pulled away and wrapping his big arms around my shoulders. Well, this was a nice change. "No one likes feeling that way," he told me, and I wondered if he'd ever, in his whole life, felt like this. Something in his voice said maybe he had.

"But, I'm supposed to be this big symbol of woman power or something, and I can't sleep because every time I do, I can feel him there. Watching me. Torturing that poor girl. Taking my voice and making me scream with it." I laughed a little, morosely, wiping away a tear as I continued, "And now I'm at my boyfriends' door because I'm scared and I can't sleep."

"It's okay," he insisted, rubbing his hands up and down my back.

"I'm so weak."

"You're not weak," he insisted, pulling back to look into my eyes. "You're the strongest person I know, Buffy."

"Not strong enough to shake this off," I muttered, trying to turn away from him, but he held me close, hands gripping my shoulders.

"Not yet," he assured me. "But you will. You'll get over it sooner than anyone else would. Because you're … Buffy."

I laughed at him, at his endearing lack of wordiness. "That doesn't help me sleep tonight," I pointed out.

"Would you like to sleep here?" he asked me, his tone gentle and giving.

I looked up into his eyes again, having very little light to see them by, but he looked serious. "Really?"

Angel nodded, taking my hand and leading me into the bedroom. "There's plenty of space." Was this payback for letting him sleep in my hospital bed the night the siege ended? Or did he really want me here, finally?

A dim little bulb in the bathroom gave the bedroom just enough light to see that Spike was there, in the bed, rubbing his eyes and sitting up halfway on his elbows. "Evenin', Slayer," he said softly.

"Hi," I said, smiling, trying to make out more of his expression in the darkness. "Is this okay?"

"Yeah," he nodded pulling down the blankets for me as he and Angel shared a silent conversation, all questioning looks and little smiles and nods. "I don't mind."

* * *

I tried to let go, I really did. I tried to let everything about the past flow away and I tried to understand what Verigard wanted from me, but it was too difficult being more than one thing at once. Me, who didn't like labels because of all the gray areas and because of how they could become insults with the right flip of nonchalance in a bully's voice, craved them. I needed one word for each feeling, each expression I could feel on my face, each of the million possible 'me's that existed in this world. There just weren't enough words.

After seeing Fred play with her mathematical equations like they were beloved pets, I tried emulating her, focusing on truths I knew to be real and constant, but they weren't right here. Nothing made sense. Even just trying to remember my name became stressful, and then impossible.

"I don't know!" I tried to cry out, shuddering as the sound left my throat in a million different voices that I didn't mean. "I can't…can't … can't … can't."

"You … won't," the being said, and I wondered if this was its idea of a pep talk or if it was trying to get me to call it quits so it wouldn't have to worry about me anymore. I'd been there for so long…

"I'm…" Wait. I knew this. I knew it god damn it! I knew, "I'm … I am who I am. End of discussion. Why isn't that enough?"

"Who you are …" it bellowed and whispered, "is not … good enough."

Yeah? Well eff-you, buddy! …. Wait, what was my name again? I just had it…

* * *

Checking with Angel once more, I put down my knife on the bedside table, shrugged off my robe, and crawled into bed next to Spike, who appeared to be naked under the covers. Angel got in after me, lying down on his side, facing me. "Do you want me to stay awake?" he asked. "Keep watch?"

"No," I insisted, turning to face him as well, "it's enough just being here." As soon as the words left my lips, I knew they were true, as pathetic as that was. I mean, Spike could seriously sleep through a rousing performance of the Sunnydale High School Marching Band (if it had still existed), pounding through his bedroom, so he wasn't a very good watch-dog, all told.

And I … didn't know how Angel slept. Not really. Not when he was relaxed and the world wasn't ending in the next few days. It seemed impossible that I could love him this much and not know how he slept, besides knowing, through Spike's constant complaining, that he snored. Wasn't that weird, for a vampire to snore? The question reminded me of that night, so long ago, when The Three came after us and Angel had to spend the night in my room. I smiled at the memory, and Angel smiled back at me, like he knew what I was thinking, though I doubted it. Neither of us had ever been very good at reading the other's thoughts.

Angel nodded and brushed his fingers along my cheek briefly before tucking my hair behind my ear. Behind me, Spike kissed my shoulder, and I turned to face him. "Thank you," I whispered, already feeling much more at ease, lying between them like this. And then Angel pulled me closer, lining up his body behind mine, an arm around my waist and his face behind my neck.

"You're safe," he whispered in my ear. "I promise, sweetheart."

Sweetheart? That had to be a good sign, right? It wasn't like he used terms of endearment in the normal course of conversation like Spike did. It meant Angel felt something shifting when it came to him and me. Finally!

Then, Spike scooted closer to us and took my hand in his, resting them both on the mattress between us, his face very close to mine. I hummed in approval, letting my eyes fall closed and trying to relax. I had two champions protecting me from Carnivora, and I tried to be grateful. I tried not to be upset with myself at how safe I felt here, how stupid my fears seemed now that I wasn't alone.

* * *

"Now, I think," I told Illyria, who wasn't really listening and hadn't been for quite some time, "if I can get some sort of quantum material. Something metal, I think, so that the particles have an easier time flowing. Don't need constipated particles when you're trying to break the laws of time and space, now do you?"

"Your friend," Illyria pointed out, indicating the blur that Willow had become recently, "comes apart. I find myself curious what will become of her if she refuses to find the pieces. One cannot be whole in this dimension if one loses the pieces."

"Loses the marbles, you mean?" I asked and told her, amused and frightened. "Willow is good at lots of games. She'll figure it out soon."

A waft of disinterest-laced nothingness fell from Illyria as she regarded the few of my bodies who I kept track of at the moment. "I thought I explained how dangerous it was, giving this truth to the humans."

"And I thought I told you," I replied, "that's my decision to make."

An empty truth galloped past, one of the equations I'd been playing with before realizing it was wrong, while Illyria melted back into me and floated away. Well, I could be a bitch too. See? I wasn't asking if she was okay. Not at all. Not a chance.

* * *

The git was speaking softly to Buffy outside our bedroom door and though I could hear them just fine, I wasn't really listening. Instead I got stuck in Angel's disappointment and how I felt it so deeply from him. Didn't even need a fresh feeding anymore to pick up on the bastard's emotions, especially when he was close. And we'd been as close as two bodies can be when that disappointment took over everything else that he had been feeling - love and happiness. Almost perfect happiness, damn it.

We were suited for each other, weren't we? Him and me? I understood most things about Angel, and even more about Angelus. I knew him inside and out, I felt his pain and his joy as my own. But I wasn't the one he'd got to have perfect happiness with, was I? No, he'd discovered that little land mine with her. So yes, I was bloody jealous of Buffy, of how she got there first. How she got between 'us' before there was even an 'us' to speak of. Well, I loved her right fierce, too, didn't I? Got my soul for her. Made my self ready for Angel, all the while thinking I was changing for her benefit. Can't say I didn't want to hurt her a bit for all of that. Can't say I didn't want her with us to distract from the pain of being alone with him. Angel. Liam.

Always loved him. Always wanted him too. Never could quite tell if he wanted me the way I wanted him, unless he was three sheets to the wind pissed. And in twenty years, that had only happened once. The one night he and I had a bit of fun after a joyous massacre and trying to out drown each other in the cask of wine set aside for the party we'd crashed. That one night, he'd returned my want with his own, but we were two demons then, sloppy drunk and it was no where near perfect.

I should have left Dru sooner. I should have found him before he met Buffy, before Sunnydale. He should have been my sole reason for the soul. It should have been me that brought him to perfect happiness and then paid the price for it, save Buffy the trouble. But it weren't. It couldn't be. Now, I couldn't let it, because after Sunnydale and LA and finding him like I had, it was just too much to lose. And I found I couldn't stomach the price.

Then Buffy explained to Angel that she was scared to be alone in the dark, and I flashed to the vision I'd had of Carnivora breaking her. Guilty again at how I'd felt in that moment, taking pleasure in her pain, all that anger turned inward, clawing and making me bloody sick to my stomach. Fucking visions. Should've found a doctor to cut them outta my head like they had that chip. Bend me like this, toward breaking for her in his arms. Weren't right to make me see that, even if it did let me save her in time.

But now she was asking us for help again, yeah? And she sounded so vulnerable about it, in a way that reminded me of that night we'd spent together in some Sunnydale stranger's house before there was no more Sunnydale, thanks to yours truly . That slight warble in her voice made me love her all over again. Buffy. Here to light up the darkness between me and Angel. I remembered why moments like those, the vulnerable moments that let a bloke see right to her core and realise that she was just as lost and just as human as the rest of us, slayer or no, made me love her. To see that strength built up around that sad, lonely beauty? It broke my heart, pained my chest and roiled my gut with one aching need. Love her. Fight for her. Protect her, William, while there's still something left of her to love. Show her why no one is meant to live alone. Show her that there was something as deep as blood between you and her. And get your bloke to do the same.

So when she asked if she could join us, I agreed, letting her back into my bed, taking her hand and telling her it would be alright. It had to be, now that she was here. Buffy, with her tiny hands and her alive smell and the way she fit between me and Ange on the bed. She would fix us. I was sure of it. She would show him and me the way to be together, to be happy, and not be pissed off and frustrated with the fact that it could never be perfect .

* * *

_Please review!_


	3. Reconstruction

_A/N: I'm sorry for the long delay. I've been sidetracked into the world of Glee lately, as well as trying not to fail out of my doctoral program. This story will progress, but at a slower pace than I'm sure many of you would like. Just know that I'm absolutely in love with this series and haven't been writing as much due more to constraints of time and muse than due to any lack of interest._

_The first version of this chapter was beta-read by the ever lovely and ingenious Hortense, who has been my faithful cheerleader in keeping this fic going. I made some changes after her wise suggestions, so any mistakes are mine.  
_

_That being said, I hope you like this latest entry in the Series:_

_**Previously**__ on The Vampire/Slayer Chronicles:_

_After a brutal fight to free Buffy of her captor, Carnivora, the team limped back to Slayer Central to lick their wounds. Willow and Fred traveled to another dimension where a being called Verigard is guiding Willow through the process of controlling her magic. Buffy, upset by her time in Carnivora's dungeon and unable to sleep, sought out Angel and Spike for comfort._

* * *

**Sanctuary **

Chapter 3 – Reconstruction

Half-asleep and holding Buffy in my arms like I'd been dreaming of since I left Sunnydale, wondering at the fact that getting to do this in the infirmary last week hadn't been a one-time deal, I breathed her in and kissed the skin behind her ear. When she gasped and shivered, I realized that I hadn't actually thought through how she might react to the gesture. With fear I decided, because of what she'd been through. "Sorry," I mumbled, letting my head fall back on my pillow, or what little was left of it beside the back of Buffy's head.

"Why?" she asked me in a whisper as Spike looked over her at me. "It was nice."

Oh. Not fear then. Desire. Hope flopping around in my chest, I hummed low in my throat and kissed her again, letting my lips linger. This was it. This was what we had all been waiting for, wasn't it? For me to get over my fears and let myself have what I wanted from her, from them? Growing bolder, I traced a line of kisses down her neck, trying to think only of her skin and the way it jumped and how the tiny hairs stood on end, and how good she smelled, not about her blood. Because that was there, too, enticing me from under the surface, calling out and reminding me how much better she tasted than almost anyone else, on par with Spike, whose blood I'd grown dangerously addicted to over the past six months. The smell of her blood brought to mind how she'd cried out in my arms, riding through the pain and perhaps finding pleasure before I drained her almost to death. It wasn't going to happen again. I had a hundred years practice denying any and almost every chance I had to bite. Half a year of being Spike's lover couldn't have unraveled that resolve too much, could it?

Spike's voice whispered to me over the woman in my arms, asking, "Ange?"

"Hmm?" I replied, nipping at Buffy's neck with my lips this time in a way that made her whimper and sent her heart beating like crazy. And beyond her, Spike was there, holding her hand, rubbing his fingers up and down her arm, stirring up the smell of desire that poured from her skin. I couldn't even remember what this had been like, holding Buffy, without him there. It made me miss him for all that time we'd been apart in the last century, each convinced that we hated the other and was hated in turn. To my credit, though, Spike didn't have a soul for most of that time and I hadn't been ready for him. That time had only come to pass recently.

"You know what you're getting yourself into, Peaches?" Spike whispered, catching my hand from Buffy's hip and holding it. "Because I'm the one who has to deal with you tomorrow if you get all broody and regretful. Don't do it unless you mean it this time."

Peeling myself away from Buffy, I sat up, knowing that this really was the last chance I would have to back out, to take Spike and be with him somewhere else, forever. But he was right. I would end up resenting him, and myself, if I turned her away again. And I couldn't do that to him, not when I knew how feelings, built up over decades and centuries, could feed on each other, feed on time, and leave our relationship in tatters eventually. I couldn't lose him.

I must have been silent for too long, because Buffy broke into my thoughts, saying, "I came for company, Angel. I came here because being alone in the dark made me feel weak, like he could still get me. Like I never stabbed that son of a bitch in the first place." She sighed and shivered, frightened again, the sweet smell clouding the scent of her desire. "Nothing needs to happen. Though," she chuckled and sat up, kissing my chin, "if you're ready for more, I'd love to just forget for a while, you know? Find myself again, here with you. Forget the monster I should have killed today." She sighed, looking away as she confessed, "I just want to forget feeling that hated and weak. I want to feel strong. I want to feel loved."

Spike and I shared a look, another silent conversation in the near-dark of our bedroom. He knew it too. This was a turning point and the choice was mine. He'd already made his choice, and it was to push for what he knew I wanted and then follow where I led. I'd led us both here, half of me not knowing what I was doing, and the other half seeking her out despite all the reasons not to. Sighing, I smiled down at her and said, "We love you, Buffy. We always have." I only realized Buffy had been holding her breath when she let it out through her nose in relief as I kissed her again, my lips putting just the right amount of pressure on hers. "And yes, _cor_," I mumbled as I pulled back, catching Spike's eye quickly, "I mean it. Thank you."

Spike smiled and nodded, actually believing me for once, and I knew he understood my gratitude. I _had_ wanted this. Even before I knew it could be done, even before he and I found Buffy again, I'd wanted this without knowing it. Some way to love my William and my Buffy at the same time. To know that the only two people I'd ever really loved were safe in my arms and loved me back. To know they would forgive me for leaving like I had, Spike in Romania and then China, and Buffy in Sunnydale, twice.

Here, in my arms, was my chance at salvation. Not the soul-goes-to-heaven sort of salvation, but the salvation of my heart, making things right with Buffy so I could feel whole, so I could keep on loving Will the way he deserved to be loved. Not wanting to waste that long awaited for chance, I bent down and kissed Buffy again.

When I released her mouth to trail more kisses down Buffy's delicious neck, Spike shifted closer, squeezing my hand as he leaned his forehead against Buffy's temple. "You're really here," he whispered in wonder and I noticed when I looked up how reverently he kissed her face, her cheekbone near the eye.

"I'm really here," she agreed, slipping one arm around his lithe frame to hug him. That was okay, or better than, because I could feel how they were both mine, under the surface. Spike had said he would give me Buffy if I asked him to, free and clear. But I couldn't do that, not when I could imagine how miserable he'd be when left out and how miserable I would be without him. So it was good, that she pulled him in, that she loved him too.

Spike laughed a little, hugging both of us together, and his happiness rolled over me, comforting and unsettling all at once. I hoped he was up to the job of keeping me sane, because at that moment, I really wasn't. Then, Spike dove in, aiming for Buffy's mouth, kissing the hell out of her and making her tremble even further in my arms. Oh, god, I could already tell this was going to be fantastic. Here's hoping I made it out the other side.

* * *

Sighing, I called through the heavy front door of the castle, "What assurances do I have that you won't go all Terminator when I let you in, Josh?"

"Put me back in the dungeon," he called out. "Chain me up. Feed me once a week. I don't care, as long as it keeps me away from him."

"And the twerp?" I asked, sighing at the need to save Andrew from a demon, again.

"Give me your word I'll live a long life down in the dungeon and I'll let him go."

Remembering Josh was an Incubus and had … ahem … special dietary needs, I asked, "And how exactly am I to make sure you don't waste away in the dungeon? While we're not usually about the cruel and unusual treatment, I'm not bringing you victims!"

"Harris," Josh chuckled. "It's a castle full of _teenagers_. I'll be fine, even locked down in the dungeon. I don't even need to see any of them in person."

"Ew," I grimaced, not wanting to think about what sort of sexual energy all these teenage girls were giving off. It was difficult enough telling myself I was way too old for most of them, even if my heart was a little tenderized from the whole break-up-with-Renee episode.

Wanting the take-down to go smoothly, I stepped away from the door and asked into my walkie, "Where are those guards, Steph?"

"Ready to strike on your mark, sir," the girl replied, and I smirked a little at being called, "sir." I still wasn't used to the grown-up feeling it gave me.

"Roger that," I replied, going back to the door. "Alright, Josh. You got my word, give Andrew up without a scratch and we'll agree to put you up in the fine and fabulous Chez Dungeon."

"Deal!"

Into the com, I said, "Give the order," keeping my ear pressed to the door so I could hear what was going on. "Drop the nerd and back away from the door," I ordered the incubus. "Let the girls take you without a struggle."

I couldn't really tell what was going on, but at the same time, Andrew started pounding on the door again, saying, "Let me in, Xander!" and Stephanie came back over the walkie-talkie, "All clear, sir. Prisoner is secure."

Sometimes I loved how cool I felt at my job.

* * *

There was no more Willow.

There was no home.

This was all that will ever be: lost and scattered flecks of nothingness that used to be a soul.

There was no I or me anymore. There was no sense of self and barely any consciousness. Everything was gone, broken down and forgotten. Too many pieces lost, and the puzzle wouldn't go together right without them. The holes would be too big.

Down, down, down, into something deeply devoid of being.

No hope, just that place, that awful, wrenching place that I would have called hell if I hadn't known any better - and if I had been able to find my mouth.

Ashes to ashes, but nothing burned. For a place reveling in the absolute contact of paradoxes, Verigard's dimension had no flames. There were places of hot and cold, but no actual flames. Thus, nothing had combusted and I had to remember that the flecks and flakes weren't ashes. They were Willow. They were mine if I could ever find them all.

As numerous as grains of sand, as light as dust and just as impossible to hold together. Sandcastles can be fun, but they don't last, do they? They don't hold up against the waves and the tide and, God, I missed Earth.

But there was the question, always. Persevere or let go? Try to gather myself up or just fade into nothing and everything? Let the people I loved (not sure what they were called at the moment, but I remembered, instinctually, how they made me feel) go on without me, or be the strong one I never was? Get the fuck over myself and find every god damned tiny piece, or let them scatter on the still and silent torrent?

I sat for a long time, letting those pieces drift away while I tried to remember what was so good about being something other than this. This was fine. I didn't know how long I would last, as the dust blew away, but there were eons where I just didn't care. I gave up, but still the void didn't take me. It didn't want me either.

Which was not at all right, because everything I could remember was screaming that being a pile of dust meant you were finally done. Finally gone. No more. Kaput! Why wouldn't I _fade_?

Maybe it was just this damn fucking dimension. If everything existed and didn't exist at once, I'd been gone since the moment I'd arrived. Chewing on that thought, I wondered if my two friends still existed and wondered if they were still waiting for me. It seemed important not to keep them waiting.

What was the problem again? Magic? I remembered being good at it, but I couldn't remember, exactly, how it happened. Was it relaxing certain muscles and thinking really hard? Was it wiggling my nose? I didn't have any of those things anymore. All unraveled, blown away but somehow coherent enough to realize how fucked up this was.

The being wanted me to figure something out, but what? Maybe if I waited another hundred million years, it would get bored and quit expecting so much of a pile of dust.

Maybe it was a decision, maybe it was survival instinct, but I knew, deep within the nothingness of me, that I had something to live for.

Friendship, there was something worth living for. Friends, good friends, like the blonde one and the boy and the one with the pet equations made me feel like I was worth something, to someone.

Hope. Hope that I could get back to the people I loved, hope that I could find someone just for myself, hope that I could fix this and be human again. Hope could be my guiding light, my map, my schematic that said where all the pieces should go.

And of course, there was the sheer stubbornness to make myself believe that I needed the pieces, before they were gone. I would not fade, even if I could. I would become whole again if it killed me.

The first two pieces were the most difficult to put back together. I knew what I had to do, but finding a way to do it was proving ... challenging. Devastating. Frustrating. So damn hard! I just...

I _needed_ it to happen, but I couldn't remember how to make it go. I tried to ask my two friends, but they didn't even acknowledge me. Was I that far gone? Was I dead and refusing to go, like a ghost? Then why couldn't I let go of this belief that if I tried hard enough and put the pieces back together, that I would live again?

Maybe it was a stupid belief. Maybe this was all there was, floating around, free from care and worry other than the pull of non-existence. At least being here, in this state, was better than the uncertainty of before. I had no one here. No one to hurt by what I was doing or not doing. Free of responsibility. Safe.

And they were safe from me until the first two pieces slipped and locked together, and I could see the whole they were part of. I _could_ do this. It _wasn't_ impossible, it was just freaking difficult. And if I changed this piece and that one, put my ego back the way it should be, build a better Willow, my friends would be safe. And I would get to see them again. I would get to go _home_.

* * *

All of a sudden Spike's fingers scrabbled at the bottom of my pajama top, finding their way underneath and pulling up on the fabric. Both men groaned when they could see me again and I smiled at that ego boost. Angel really was ready, and Spike seemed to believe him, and I only hoped that we weren't all seeing just what we wanted to and nothing else. And then, they were all over me, roaming hands and lips, hard bodies and the unmistakable feel of vampire that my sick little brain twisted around from fear and distrust into love and desire. At least they both had souls. There was something to be thankful for.

Angel lay down behind me, pulling me close against his bare chest, all that cool skin pressed against my back and his a hand on my stomach, before burying his face in my hair and then brushing it aside so he could kiss my neck again. I was beginning to think that was a big thing for him. Neck-kissing. Huh, never would have guessed with the whole vampire shtick he's got going…

In front of me, Spike caught my lips again, his tongue finding mine and making me moan in excitement at the cool cigarette and iron-tinged taste of him. Then, his hand brushed carefully at the underside of one of my breasts, teasing and tantalizing like he was so good at. I would have said it was some sort of seduction technique, except that when he went for it in earnest, kneading one boob, his thumb brushing brazenly over the nipple, we both groaned, him like he'd been a man starving for years and had finally found a Twinkie.

Breaking his lips away from mine, Spike raised his head to watch Angel, saying, "I love you, Peaches, but I've sorely missed tits."

Angel laughed against my neck, and I found myself smiling, too. "So you're saying," Angel murmured, "that if I had tits, you'd be happier?" Oh, I loved this side of him. The one with a sense of humor that wasn't buried under decades of repression and guilt. I should have known that Spike would be good at coaxing it out of him.

"Oh, god no!" Spike cried, collapsing back onto the bed with a loud laugh that had me giggling. "Angel, that's just too disturbing for words."

"Yeah," I said, turning to face him, appreciating the joke, but not the image it had suggested. "Your chest is perfect." Running my fingers over his chest and just about dying of pleasure at how good the muscles felt under my hands, I tilted my head up to kiss Angel with gusto. He'd looked like he needed it. Spike fitted himself behind me, hand finding my other breast this time, scraping the skin between my shoulder and my neck lightly with his teeth so I whimpered against Angel's mouth.

"Mmm," he mumbled, "you taste like Will."

"Is that a bad thing?" I asked, reaching back for Spike and pulling him closer with a hand on his ass.

"No," Angel replied, his hand covering mine on Spike's ass, holding him steady while Angel thrust against me at the same time. All three of us gasped. "It's one of the best things I've ever tasted."

"God," I groaned as they both started rocking against me, hard male flesh everywhere. "I don't know how this is going to work, really. But however it does, there's too many clothes in the way." I kissed Angel again before pulling at the elastic of his pants, aching with the need to get him naked again, the need to feel him pressed against me, in me. All of a sudden though, Angel growled and turned his face away from me, and I could tell that he'd gone all bumpy.

"Too excited, luv?" Spike asked with a smirk in his voice, reaching across me to stroke his hand down the front of Angel's pants, making the other vampire gasp and squirm. "Fuck, you're hard," Spike crooned, his hips rocking against my backside, even while he touched Angel.

I'd been with them before we left LA, and I'd spent most of the summer in their company, but this was the first time I'd really seen something this explicit between them. The surety behind Spike's actions spoke to the fact that they did this all the time, when I wasn't around. I'd seen them kissing before, and I'd imagined what their lovemaking would look like, but now I was seeing it up close and very personal. And the way Angel arched into Spike's hand, like he didn't have a choice in the matter, like his body knew exactly what to expect from the other man, had me gasping to catch my breath and wondering if his body would ever know me that well.

"Will," Angel growled when he got himself somewhat under control, "I can't put the fangs away when you're touching me like that."

"I like them," I assured him, no stranger to Angel's game face, pulling him back toward me so I could kiss him, fangs and all. I nipped at his lips with mine, noticing they felt exactly the same as the moment before, except for the sharp teeth behind.

"See?" Spike chuckled, abandoning Angel in favor of pulling at my pajama bottoms, getting them and my underwear off me in one fell swoop. "Buffy likes them, Ange."

Taking the opportunity, I pulled at Angel's pants again, pushing them down past his hard on, and then trailing my fingers up his shaft, shivering at how something so hard underneath could have such soft skin. Angel growled again, struggling to push his pants the rest of the way off. "I don't," he gasped as I touched him, thrusting up into my hand a little as I fisted him, "want to hurt you."

Moaning as Spike pressed my mound with all of his fingers and moved them in slow circles, I told Angel, "You won't."

"What if," he gasped, catching my hand and stopping me from stroking him, "I forget and bite you?"

I shuddered under Spike's touch and leaned my head back against the blonde's shoulder, so I could look at Angel. He was definitely in full vamp mode, but I was so far gone at this point, I thought he looked even hotter, except for that desperate worry in his golden eyes. He was so scared for me, like I was some other girl who couldn't protect herself.

"I promise," I told him, taking his hand. "I won't let you, okay? I'm really good at the whole, fighting off bitey-vampires thing, honey. It won't be a problem."

Angel nodded before looking past me and asking, "Spike?"

"Yes, luv?" I could almost feel the blond trembling with frustration. He wanted to get on with it, he wanted me so badly, I could tell. It felt almost like before, when he and I had been involved and it had been a few days since we'd had sex. It gave him this look in his eye and this tension in his body that I knew well, that I could practically feel from a mile away. Briefly, I wondered if Angel knew it too, or if Spike's body language with him was different. I doubted it.

Angel continued, "If I call out to you, can you give me your wrist? So I can bite you instead?"

"Yes," he gasped. "Yes, anythin', Angel. Just quit stallin' me here."

"Why don't you," Angel whispered, "go first? Would that be okay Buffy?"

My brain at less than full functioning capacity, it took me a moment to think it over and finally nod, "As long as you don't leave. As long as you stay involved here with us, Angel. I don't want you two fighting over me about who got to do what."

"I'll stay," he agreed. "I just need Will clear-headed enough to keep me in line."

"Thanks, Peaches. I'll do my best." Spike sat up, pulling him in for a deep kiss, the sight of which made me shiver, before turning back to me, eyes dark with desire. "Slayer," he crooned in that low, low voice that made me want to do anything he asked.

"Spike," I whispered, keeping a hold on Angel's hand as the blond vampire turned me and pressed me down, my back to the mattress, fitting his hips between my thighs. Spike kissed me, hard, panting through his nose as he rubbed his prick up and down my slit, teasing me, asking for what he needed.

"Bloody hell, Buff," he breathed. "I love you."

"I love you, too," I groaned, more than ready to let him in, to let him stretch me after all this time, to feel everything that they would make me feel, to show them how much I loved them both.

* * *

"How is she doing?" I asked Verigard, watching Willow lose her structural integrity even as she sat solidly in one place, lost in thought.

"Almost … there," it replied, petting one of my favorite formulas until it started purring. "She … gave up everything … with her … pride. Everything needs … to be rebuilt."

"How long do you think it will take her?" Illyria rolled her eyes at me and walked away, bored by the discussion. She was still upset with my lack of a world domination plan, but something told me she didn't like to be alone either. Here, in a dimension where we could take advantage of the paradox that was our existence, she could have figured out a way to leave me forever, but I was pretty sure I felt her thoughts about that possibility. She didn't want to be left here alone, without a tangible body, blowing apart on the still wind like Willow.

I liked to think maybe she was just the littlest bit fond of me, too.

"These things…" the guardian told me, "…cannot be … predicted. Though your equations … might give an … answer!" It laughed, a shimmering rumbling silence of humor that I couldn't help but join in. The entity reminded me of my grandfather in some ways, which was comforting and a little disconcerting because my real grandfather was supposed to be dead in another dimension.

But what is death but crossing into another dimension?

Shaking my head at the thought, I tried to turn back to thinking about Angel's predicament. I was almost there. I had almost figured out a scientific theory and the plans for a device that would let Angel be physically connected to the Aegis from anywhere on Earth. At this point, it was a matter of figuring out how to let the paradox flow into a material that was anything but paradoxical. "Verigard?" I asked, suddenly struck with an idea.

"Yes?"

"May I remove some material from your dimension? I'd like to study it under Earth-conditions."

The being seemed to think on this for a long time before replying, "It has not … been done. History … future … it shouldn't be possible."

"Can I try?" I plead, using my best emit-pleasing-thought/smell/emptiness skills I'd learned from Illyria. It came across as something approximating a smile. "I promise I won't take much…"

There was that rumble again. "You may try, … Fred. You may try."

"Yay!"

* * *

_Please review and tell me how much you'd like the next chapter. It might help me prioritize it in my list of fics to work on writing in my very limited free time._


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